the war outside our door keeps raging on
by explanations
Summary: "Sorry," she says first, and swallows. She feels the dizzying feeling of flying again, the one she felt only once before, on a fire escape in the Seattle night. Post-iOMG fic, no longer canon compliant. SamFreddie


Sam isn't one to dwell on things.

Emotions? Sure, she has them. Loads, actually, and if one was wearing full body armor they might even call her a basket case. It's the kind of image she's cultivated after years of building up walls then breaking them down with explosives; and so it really isn't a shock at all when she makes the most masochistic decision of her life without any consciousness on her part.

She kind of thinks Freddie is the nicest thing in the world.

It doesn't change anything about her, not really. She's still Sam, still the rambunctious, ridiculous, intense girl who could probably beat up an entire wrestling team if she was properly motivated; who could do anything if she was properly motivated. She doesn't become a frilly fradoodle like she did that one time for Pete, or a giggly teenager in love like with Jonah. She's just Sam; they do iCarly, he gives her meat, and she roughs him up as she sees fit. The only difference is that she kind of wants him to be her boyfriend, kind of wants his hand to hold at scary movies (only to comfort him; he's kind of a wimp) and she kinds of wants him to kiss her again like he did in the fire escape, except better (because she's learned there's more to it by now, and maybe she wants to see how she's improved since her first out of some misguided sense of self-competition).

She doesn't know what to do about this, so she does what she does best and doesn't do anything at all.

xx

Turns out she's a girl of action, and so the doing nothing plan works out about as well as therapy does.

"Sorry," she says first, and swallows. She feels the dizzying feeling of flying again, the one she felt only once before, on a fire escape in the Seattle night. Her mind is scrambling to play Shepherd to all her insecurities, fears, and defense mechanisms loose. A glance at his face, and those fall back into the Pandora's box with a sharp clang.

"It's okay," he says, looking not at all okay. He looks like someone hit him with a taco truck - and okay, her mind is not going there if she can help it, even if his probably beat her there.

The wind billows, and then there is silence. He's immobilized and she counts to four before she pushes past him to get to the door, the knob icy on her hands.

xx

She pulls the fire alarm. It's worth it to leave early.

xx

The first thing Sam does after opening the door is dumping her bag on the floor. There are fat cakes and chicken and possibly some guacamole, and it's all going to mix together to form an unpleasant aroma tomorrow, but her mom isn't home and it's not like she has limits on what she eats. She washes her hands and sits down to four hours of HBO shows, completely forgetting the world outside of her house.

In the middle of Entourage, her phone rings. It's the person she expected the least, calling her about the person she expected the most.

"Look, I just think we need to talk about this," Carly says, surprisingly calm given the subject matter. "What did I see? I just want to know," she is pleading now, and Sam's not surprised because if there's anything Carly hates, it's not knowing something is up with her best friend.

She briefly toys with the idea of telling her everything, twirling the possibility around with her middle finger like a basketball. Then she remembers his face, and knows that there's no good in telling the truth at all. Acting rashly has always worked for her when she was lying, but telling the truth results in detention, disappointment, stoic faces, and she won't put herself through that.

"Nothing," she hears herself say. "I just wanted him to stop talking."

Carly is silent on the other end, and she knows instinctively that the brunette is gearing up to give her a lecture on how denial is the defensive mechanism of the weak and the tragically dressed. She closes her eyes, thinking about all that happened yesterday like it was so long ago.

"I just want you to be happy," she hears, and oh, that's coming from the phone. "And – if that's how you feel about Freddie, then that is perfectly fine with me," Carly says, as sincerely as she's ever heard someone sound. "You know – I hope – I hope you know that I'm available to talk, about anything, if you feel like talking about this, any time you're ready, I'm available at this number – I think you have it on your phone. " she jokes, a little awkwardly, but Sam appreciates it and it makes her feel a little bit normal. Her right hand grasps the sides of the phone, and the little basketball spins on top of her ring finger. Why the fuck not? Carly's been her best friend since George Bush was president, and it's not like it's going to get any better if she just hides it. She's already screwed herself in the worst way –

The call waiting flashes and it's someone she knows. Carly is waiting patiently for her answer on the other end, but she's broken out her reverie by now. She closes her eyes and pictures his face billowing in the wind of the breezeway, pressing the yellow button on the right with both of her hands.

"Hey, Brad."

xx

Next day at school, she avoids everyone, but he finds her anyway.

"You're pretty cool, Sam," he confesses, his hands entangled with each other nervously. "I mean, I think you're funny, and smart - don't deny it, I know you are," he laughs self-consciously, "- and you're one of the most interesting people I know, and - I don't know if I'm being too presumptuous, or if what the rumors tell me is true, but I would really really like to get to know you better. Want to maybe get a smoothie sometime?"

She's leaning against her locker, which is the worst place to be at the moment since she's trying the whole "incognito" thing. Carly's probably coming soon, since they have Bio together and she needs her books, so she needs to get out of there fast. To be honest, she's kind of gobsmacked, because even though they talked for a while last night, she honestly couldn't concentrate on anything he said. She just stayed on the phone until the call waiting button stopped blinking and Carly went to bed, probably with a dozen angry emails in her drafts.

But, he's nice, and he's distracting, and the man makes great fudge. Sam Puckett isn't going to turn into Bella Swan just because she may or may not be in love with someone else. He could be the Aidan to her Carrie - holy crap, she needs to stop watching HBO - and help her get over the one she's not sure she could work it out with. She could probably use someone like that, seeing as none of her romantic interests ever follow through positively, exactly. She could use the safe option.

So she says yes, and makes plans for a date next Friday.

xx

She was hoping to avoid him before Friday comes, but she forgets that they have a weekly webshow that they put on for at least a million people on the Internet to see, and her best friend lives in his apartment building. Carly's long forgiven her for hanging up on her, though she's not sure how long that will last once she finds out who she's dating. She's not looking forward to that conversation, though she realizes that she needs to have it.

Well, tough luck - anger management, therapy, Cuddlefish tickets; she needs a lot of things. It's time she realizes that she's not the kind of person who gets them.

"I just think it's rude," she hears Freddie spit from outside the Shay's door, her hand paralyzed inches away from the doorknob. "First, she plants an suspecting one on me, makes me think she might be in love with me, then she vanishes off the face of the Earth, leaving the classes we have together as soon as she gets there and not even looking me in the damn face." She could hear him pacing around the room, imagines him ruffling his fingers in his hair. "When I show up at her house, she sent Frothy after me! Could you believe it? Frothy! I could have gotten rabies, and then I wouldn't have been able to make that Doctor Who marathon with Brad at at which point he told me, oh yeah, that he was going out with Sam this Friday. And then he says that her favorite companion is Martha! Martha! Is she doing this just to fuck with me, or is this not even about me at all? Am I just some sort of peripheral victim in the larger scheme of things where Sam Puckett is concerned? Does she even care about the fact that we've been worried to death ever since she - she," he stops mid-rant and sighs. "I just don't know what to I have to do," he admits. "I'd hoped that she would at least show up for iCarly, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen."

"What?" Carly sounds indignant. "She's going out with Brad?"

"She is," he says.

"Are you gonna stop her?" Carly asks simply.

Freddie's voice trails, and for a second she waits. "I'm..."

"Sam?" Spencer peeks out from behind her, hands holding a bag of grocery each.

"Spencer! What are you doing here?" she whirls around shocked, using the quietest voice she can – which, naturally, alerts everybody.

"Sam?" She hears a pause, then a scramble, and the door opens. Carly steps out, looking aghast.

"So you're here for iCarly practice after all." Her arms are crossed, but it's not she who says it.

"Well, yes; feel free to roll out the red carpet." She announces, defiantly not looking at him. "Any bacon in there, bud?" She spins around to face Spencer, poking the plastic bags he held in his hands.

"You asked me what I was doing outside my own apartment complex," Spencer points out to her.

She shrugs, "I said you were my bud, I didn't say I knew everything about you."

"Well, clearly you don't know anything about punctuality, either," Freddie tries again. She whirls around to face him. "What are you on about, Fredward? I've only been late for like five minutes. That's better than my usual record!"

He growls. "I think it says something when being late for five minutes is an achievement."

"Better than if my only achievement was being the Nerdiest boy in America," she snarls.

"You don't have the Y chromosome! That's not even feasible!" He throws his hands up.

"Better than having the _nerd _chromosome!" She shoots back, moving closer.

"You lost me!" Spencer shouts.

"Okay, okay," Carly steps in between them, attempting to mediate. She sneaks a look at Spencer, "what are _you _yelling about?"

"I don't know! I just want to go home!" Spencer says desperately.

"Look, I don't know what's happening." Sam announces. "Can we just start iCarly now? The fans will be waiting." She brushes by Carly roughly and enters the Shay's door, not looking at anyone.

And so it begins.

xx

He's been staring at her all night.

The iCarly broadcast was a success, despite the fact that - well - none of them were in the best of moods. The skits went over well, though the way she'd been feeling, it could have bombed and she wouldn't have noticed.

He was always staring at her.

"That wasn't so bad," Carly says, in the weird state of stalemate after the show. She stashes the costumes in a neat pile. "I think the reverse-robbery skit went over really well."

"Yeah, the audience probably got a real kick out of the candy robber toddler." Freddie affirms, eyes not quite where Carly was. "That has - uh, recurring potential."

"I don't know, how do you figure we can stretch that?" Carly asks. "Isn't it kind of limited? Plus, I don't know if Sam would be willing to wear an adult diaper again." She turns around, "What do you think, Sam?"

"Uh, sounds good." Sam says distractedly, her eyes determinedly fixed on nothing in particular. She stands up, "It's getting dark, I think it's time for me to go."

"You don't want to stay tonight? it's a school night," Carly points out, confused. When Sam shakes her head, she sighs. "Okay. But call me when you get home!"

Freddie's fiddling with the laptop, but he's looking at her.

She nods at Carly then sidles out the door.

xx

It is not even four steps out of the Shay's apartment that she hears his voice.

"Wait," he says, closing the door to the apartment behind him. "Wait. I'm going to walk you home."

She freezes in her steps. "Uh, we live in the 21st century. I don't think it's necessary that I be _escorted_."

"Well, considering Seattle, no," he mocks back, "but considering you, yes. Who knows how many bad decisions you'll make in the five minutes it takes for you to get back?"

"Bad decisions? Oh - like letting a creep from school follow me all the way home?" She turns around. "I'll have you know it seemed like it was out of my power."

"It really was," he nods, and grins. The corner of her mouth twitches and she's surprised when she's shyly smiling back.

He notices it, "I'm just gonna get my coat," he beams, gestures to the apartment beside them.

Her smile contorts into a groan,"oh, come on."

"What?" he defends, "it's chilly outside!"

"Yes," she replies, "Because Seattle is absolutely known for its cold weather. If you take too long, I'm not waiting around," she warns, turning on her heels to go.

He shrugs. "Okay," he says easily, and starts to catch up to her.

She stops, partly because she's surprised, partly because she wants to walk next to him. "Aren't you afraid of getting a cold?" She asks, aware of how absolutely stupid she sounds.

"I guess that's a risk I'll take," he shrugs again.

"Why?" she can't help but burst out. Oh god, this is the portion of the evening where she has absolutely no control over her mouth, isn't it? The last time that happened - no. She might as well just go back to the Shay's and throw herself down the elevator shaft, now.

"Because... it would be rude if I made you wait," he says measuredly.

"Since when did you have a problem with being rude to me?" She asks again abrasively. A part of her is angry at Freddie for being so nice. "I never had a problem being rude to you!"

His placid facade fades. "You're right, Sam, you didn't." He says, his voice still controlled "You didn't have a problem insulting my hair, my face, my mom, my hobbies. You took advantage of me, physically hurt me, never missed an opportunity or saw a cheap shot you didn't like." he continues, "You're lazy, you're unmotivated, and you're always late -"

Sam's suddenly furious. "You think I don't know this?" she turns angrily. "You think I don't know that I am a terrible person? A juvenile delinquent unworthy of anyone's time and that no one - no one could - " Her eyes sting. This is every girl's nightmare - the boy they liked listing reasons he didn't like her right in front of her. She _kissed _him, so shouldn't he know? Why is he being so cruel?

"...but I also think you're funny, interesting, and smart, even if you don't apply yourself - exactly," he continues. "You could, you could though, and I think if you did you could do anything."

She's confused. "Wait -"

And then he kisses her.

xx

She's not sure what to do.

Does she move her mouth? Run her hands up his arms? Maybe put some pressure on his lips? He's doing all the work here, but she's still half immobilized by the shock and isn't quite sure what is even _happening_. She can feel him stiffening every moment she doesn't respond, and oh god, this is going to be their last kiss isn't it? They'll both die just having had three kisses with opened eyes and closed mouths, each one more awkward than the last.

It can't.

In desperation, she puts one of her hands on his shoulders and presses her mouth harder against his, her other hand grasping the nape of his neck. He groans and reciprocates, and a tremor ripples through her body. Okay, so this is a little better. She still needs a little more pressure, though, and he gets the hint, backing her into a wall and opening his mouth under hers. She immediately darts out her tongue to wrestle with his, inciting another moan from him as his hand comes to rest at the base of her hips, the other cupping her head and tilting it to get to a deeper angle, returning the kiss just as fiercely as she'd given it. They're now fully and well making out, he starting to kiss her neck and lower and lower but she's beginning to hear footsteps and it might be Carly and they can't be caught and oh god, hadn't he just insulted her?

So she pushes him away. "What the hell?" She exclaims, breathless and pretending she hadn't been a very eager participant in what just happened. She expected him to regain all of his sense and groan about what he'd done, what this would mean about his future with Carly, but he just stands there, hands still on her wrists, looking at her.

"Cancel the date with Brad," he says breathelessly, eyes still dark. "Don't be with anyone else."

"What?" she asks, shocked.

He just laughs. "You should have stayed at the Lock-In," he says, and darts in to kiss her again.

xx

Friday, they go to see Paranormal Activity 3. She doesn't dress up beyond what she usually wears and they don't fawn over each other. He brings meat and she holds his hand through all of it.

"This part's the worst," he says, watching through the space between his hands.

"You're kind of a wimp," she laughs, and she's happy.


End file.
